The moving train

After thirty yearsof teaching history,She reached out to hima million times,The kids went awayTo study and to earn a nameHer history kept her movingin the tear drops of rain.She belonged to her studentsand never felt sane,The commute of life took awayYears she could have spentbeing there when it mattered.Space is a luxury not to be given;Unless you hide from pain.He saw her gliding through the train’s coachCould have hugged her tightBut he found himselfon the wrong side of the platform.The train had leftbut a fragment of her behind,Her dreams had been achievedthrough other people in her life.“What will I do when I retire”she used to quip to him everydaySo much to read and write, he would say.Have done my fair share, said her mindYet she believed there was still time,Time to make things right.

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